“Exactly,” she said. “That’s why you are perfect. My father has arranged a match for me, you see. A much older, domineering lord.”
“He sounds quite acceptable. Your father has your best interests at heart.”
She pouted, showing full, red lips…very kissable lips.
“I don’t love Lord Walling. He’s thirty-three years my senior, has no interest in who I am, and he waddles.”
Marcus had to drag his gaze from her mouth to her flashing blue eyes. “He sounds even better. What do you need me for?”
“I need to create a scandal, ruin my reputation. It’s the only way to get out of Lord Walling’s trap and to stop my father’s relentless matchmaking. Only then will I be free to return to Auntie Lil in Paris. She’s waiting for me with open arms.”
He felt a stab of anger that she sought only to use him, and a sudden round of deep-seated memories assailed him.
Just like Bridget, he mused.
Before her death, Bridget had used him and then had betrayed him. Isabel sought to make use of his infamous social reputation, but would she also seek to betray him?
“Again, madam, your plan is unsound and irrational. You should obey your father,” he said in a harsh voice.
She reached out and touched his chest. “You may say such things, but your eyes tell another story. I know you felt something for me when we danced last night. I could feel it, and I’m guessing you did as well.”
Marcus’s throat tightened at her touch. Despite his reservations, his common sense, he was by no means blind to her face and form. His gaze dropped from her blue eyes to her full, bottom lip, and a trickle of sweat formed on his brow.
It’s this room, he told himself. Any man would be stiff as a board if he were propositioned by a beautiful woman in such an erotic environment.
He placed his big hand over her smaller one and moved it away. “You’re wrong. How would an innocent girl like you know how I felt last night?”
She stepped forward; he stepped back.
“I’m not a girl and you know it. I’m past the age of schoolgirl fantasies. I’m a real woman with interests and desires, and being married off to a dominating, old lord is not one of them.”
He continued retreating until he realized with dismay that they were closer to the round, satin-encased bed.
Damnation.
If she were an experienced lady looking for sport, he would oblige her and happily. But this was Isabel Cameron, an innocent lady whose influential father was an earl and a friend of Marcus’s father. Memories of her childhood antics were still pure and clear in his mind.
“Isabel,” he warned, his tone low and rough.
“I’m very persistent when I want something. Remember how I was as a young girl, Marcus? As a grown woman, I’m even more tenacious when I desire something.” Her voice was a velvet murmur.
She was so close he could see her irises grow in the dim light. She stared at him with longing, and he was completely taken by surprise. No one had looked at him that way in a long time, especially not a lady. He was an outsider, an outcast, whose own family looked down upon him. Here was a remarkably beautiful woman who gazed at him as if he were her savior, and a spark of unfamiliar need flared inside him so great he struggled to deal with the ravaging emotion.
His gaze fell to the creamy expanse of her neck, then lower still, to the rounded tops of her full breasts. When his eyes returned to hers, there was no maidenly innocence in the sky blue depths, only physical awareness of him as a man. Her invitation was a passionate challenge, impossible to resist. He had an overwhelming desire to hold her, taste her, trace her full bottom lip with his tongue…
His body grew hot; his heart hammered in his chest.
How much could a man resist?
After all, what harm could one kiss do?
He moved toward her, impelled involuntarily by his own lust. She glided into his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Still, he held himself back and looked into her eyes. “Isabel, this is madness.”
“That’s what makes it perfect,” she whispered, and then drew his face to hers.
Chapter 3
He was solid like a mountain. Isabel felt every hard muscle of his chest pressing into her body. His arms tightened around her, and she could feel the heat of his hands through the thin fabric of her gown. His mouth hovered above hers, his hot breath fanning her lips. A wild look flashed in his eyes, but he hesitated.
“For someone who claims to want a lover, I think you’re ignorant of men,” he said.
“That’s not true,” she protested.
“Have you ever been kissed before?”
“Of course. Three times to be exact.” When he looked at her with disbelief, she rushed to add, “On the mouth.”
“By whom?”
“Is that important? All I can say is that I’m a fourth-year debutante. I’ve had my fair share of spins around the dance floor and private walks in the garden.”
“Is that where it happened?”
“Where what happened?”
“The kisses. In the garden.”
She looked at him quizzically. “I don’t recall.”
“That’s odd. I would think you would remember every detail of those kisses, especially your first. Perhaps you’re overestimating your experience. You shouldn’t seek a lover after all. A husband sounds more appropriate,” he said, his tone harsh.
“That’s a falsehood conjured up by men. Auntie Lil says a woman must experience at least two lovers to be happy, neither of which should be her husband.”
“Does she now? Your aunt sounds quite unconventional.”
“Oh yes, she is. She’s wonderful in her forward way of thinking and behaving. She’s an artist, like me, only she tends to work with oils while I prefer watercolors. Either way, she lives a full and exciting life which includes many male artists and models, but no husband. I visited her last summer in Paris and can’t wait to return. Father doesn’t understand Auntie Lil’s progressive ideas. He thinks there is no alternative for me except to be suitably settled.”
“He’s right. As a child who thrived on mischief, you needed a strong hand. Nothing has changed.”
She met his gaze without flinching. “Why refuse me? I thought all men, married and bachelors, had affairs.”
“Wherever did you hear that?”
She shrugged. “Women talk, Marcus.”
“Well, it is not true. Some men have respect for the sanctity of marriage, and as a rule, gentlemen don’t have liaisons with titled debutantes.”
He dropped his arms from around her, and she felt a sudden inexplicable sense of loss.
For the first time since arriving at the Westley mansion, a flicker of apprehension coursed through her. She had been certain that Marcus would be a willing participant in her scheme. From what she had heard about men, their base needs always overrode their reason.
A sudden unbidden image of Lord Walling seared her brain. Depraved appetites in bed, Charlotte had said.
No, she could never imagine a life